Page 30 of Bride of the Mad Laird (Sparks and Tartans #12)

CHAPTER THIRTY

A loud banging on the door woke them both from slumber, still in each other’s arms, soft and warm, their night’s blissful lovemaking rippling in their hearts.

Tòrr sat up and bellowed “Who goes?”

“Edmund. I need tae speak tae ye.”

Grumbling, Tòrr raised himself from the bed and bent to kiss Lyra’s cheek. She hastily pulled the covers over herself, suddenly shy.

“Wait, let me put on me robe me laird, I dinnae wish tae be seen all a-tumble in the bed.”

He gave a soft laugh. “Me lady wife, ‘tis exactly as ye should look on the morning after yer wedding night.” He regarded her, grinning. “May yer hair never be free of tangles, yer cheeks always pink and yer lush lips so swollen and red from all the kissing ye bestowed on me.”

She pshawed, stepping out of the bed and reaching for her robe, “Ye mean the kisses ye bestowed on me, husband.”

He chuckled, embracing her in her nakedness as another loud knocking came from Edmund.

He sighed, waiting while she flung on her robe and with his plaid wrapping him, he headed to the door to unlatch it.

Edmund burst in, breathless. “Come. The scouts have galloped in after yet another skirmish wi’ the gallowglasses.”

“God’s blood.” Tòrr cursed loudly. “Yet still they come. I thought we’d seen the last of them. At least fer a while.” He pulled on his britches under the plaid.

“Where did this take place?”

“Nae far. They were in the hills nae far tae the west, patrolling, and they came upon a troop of strangers. When they questioned them, the men attacked.”

“And what of our lads? Were any injured.” Tòrr shook his head looking concerned.

Lyra listened as the two men spoke, her heart plummeting. She placed a hand on Tòrr ’s arm, knowing he would never rest again until he’d taken his men to destroy the enemy. She sucked in a frightened breath as he turned to her, taking her hand.

“I ken what ye’re going tae say, Tòrr. Ye will be leaving our marriage bed tae deal with the intruders in yer lands.”

“Aye, lass. I will call on me guards and we will away as soon as we can.” He cast her a rueful glance. “We must be safe here at the castle.”

She nodded, trying to keep her voice steady. As the Laird’s lady, it was her duty to stand by his side and not put her needs before his and the clan’s.

Blinking away tears, she gave his arm a quick squeeze. He turned and escorted Edmund to the door.

“If ye can ready the men, I’ll be wi’ ye as soon as I am dressed.”

After quickly donning a blouse and pulling on one of her kirtles, she followed him at a run as he strode down the stairs and out of the keep. He turned to her as she stood in the doorway.

“Stay inside, me love. Dinnae stray into the courtyard, or the bailey. I promise tae come home tae ye as soon as I am able.”

Blinking away tears, she reluctantly let go of his arm.

The groom was waiting with Paden already saddled. Edmund stood beside the horse as Tòrr mounted. The other men, already mounted, were gathered at the gate.

As they clattered through the raised gate Tòrr turned in the saddle and gave one wave of his hand before urging Paden into a gallop.

Lyra was surprised when Edmund crossed the courtyard and ascended the stairs to where she was still standing, her heart in her mouth, scarcely able to comprehend that Tòrr, so lately in her arms, was on a dangerous mission from which he might not return.

“Dinnae fash, Lyra. I see it in yer eyes. Our laird will return. His heart is here and he will dae everything in his considerable power tae keep safe ye and all who dwell in our clan’s land.

“Why are ye nae riding wi’ the other men?”

“’Tis me duty tae guard the castle, me lady. Should there be an attack I must rally our men tae fight.”

Her stomach knotted painfully. “If they attack it will mean Tòrr and his men have been defeated.”

Edmund nodded slowly. “Mayhap. I cannae give ye honey. ‘Tis a dangerous mission tae be sure. Yet Tòrr is a fierce and savage warrior, I ken they will nae be defeated.”

With that Edmund bowed from the waist, darted down the stairs and headed across the courtyard to the guard house.

Heart-heavy, Lyra, retraced her steps back to the bedchamber. She washed quickly and sat before the fire, as Elspaith came in to fuss over her hair and comb out its tangles.

She broke her fast with a few spoonfuls of porridge but ignored the eggs and oatcakes, finding her appetite had fled.

As the hours wore on and there came no word from Tòrr, the knot in her belly tightened painfully. She paced the chamber, walked to the solar and back to the chamber, unable to banish the dire thoughts crowding her head.

Finally, when it was long past noon, she shook her head in despair. The only one she wished to speak with was Eilidh. Her wise and thoughtful words were what she needed to slow her racing heart and unravel the ever-tightening knot in her belly.

She took her cloak and changed her slippers for her boots and quietly walked from the room.

Mindful of Tòrr’s words bidding her to remain inside the keep, she was careful to skirt the edge of the courtyard hoping Edmund would not catch sight of her, and crossed to the stairs leading to the bailey.

She found Eilidh with an empty basket filled with linens, and jars of salves and tisanes on her table, about to don her cloak.

“Oh.” Lyra felt her mouth turn down. “Ye’re going out?”

Eilidh curtsied, nodding. “Aye. I’ve been called to attend to the wife of one of the fishermen who is soon to give birth. But surely, I can spare a few moments of me time wi’ yer troubled face, me lady.”

She beckoned Lyra to a nearby chair and took a seat by the table.

“Now, what ails ye? Yesterday was a glorious time of celebration fer all of us, tae see our laird so happily wed. Did things nae go well on yer wedding night?”

Lyra gave a wan smile, shaking her head. “Nay. ‘Twas exactly as ye said. I didnae credit it, yet the bliss ye told me of was tenfold.” She thought on this for a moment. “Mayhap, one hundredfold.”

Then the tears flowed.

“Then what is it that turns yer mouth down so and creases yer brow in such a way?”

Lyra sniffed away a sob. “I am so afeared fer the laird. He was gone at daybreak, seeking a party of evil men who menace our clan and castle.”

Eilidh took her hand. “I am happy that ye found joy in yer laird’s arms, me dear. But I fear ye must learn that yer role as his lady is tae stay safe in the castle, tae manage it well, and tae await his return. There will be many times when he will face danger and ye must stay strong.” She got to her feet and collected the basket from the table. “Come, dry yer tears and accompany me tae the gate, I will be off wi’out delay. I must make sure the wee bairn makes his or her entry safely into this world.”

They walked arm-in-arm up the stairs to the courtyard and toward the gate.

Eilidh’s warm presence and her wise words were reassuring. Lyra was only just beginning to realize that she was now the lady of Castle Dùn Ara, and as such she had new duties. She must put on a brave face in her aird’s absence, the servants would all look to her to seek their confidence. If she were to crumble, then all would be lost.

As the gate swung open for Eilidh to pass through, Lyra straightened her spine and lifted her head. She would not show her fears.

Eilidh hurried through the opening gate and Lyra turned to go, but before she’d taken two steps a rude shouting broke into her thoughts and the clatter of many horses’ hooves shattered the calm.

Her heart lifted for just one beat, as she wondered whether Tòrr had returned. But as she turned, hoping to welcome him she saw, with horror several men dressed in the dun the gallowglasses wore, driving their Highland ponies through the still slightly open gate into the courtyard.

She screamed, lifting her kirtle to run, when the first of the riders swept toward her. Before she could scream a second time, he leaned over and seized her with both hands, one hand winding in her hair and pulling hard, the other snaking around her waist and drawing her onto his mount to toss her across the saddle.

Struggling vainly, she managed to scream again before the wind was knocked out of her lungs and, save for gasping a breath, she was unable make another sound. The man wheeled his horse and in the space of a brief moment, he and his men were streaking back through the gate. The man pressed his knee painfully against her face while one hand pinned her to the saddle.

The last thing she heard before the gate clanged shut behind them, too late, was Edmund’s voice roaring above the melee.

She was conscious of very little as they rode. They spoke occasional words to each other in a guttural language she did not understand. But she had no need to understand their language to gauge what was happening.

MacDougall’s men had finally claimed her and she was being transported with all speed to Castle Duart for MacDougall to do what he willed with her.

Her mind swum with possibilities of escaping once they stopped to rest their ponies, yet she knew that with every passing minute the distance she would have to cover to return to the castle was growing. Her chances of escape lessened with every such moment.

They had left Dùn Ara well behind before the men pulled their horses to a standstill and the man who had captured her finally allowed her to draw breath. He hauled her from the steed struggling as best she could, despite the terrible stiffness in her limbs, holding her still while another man bound her wrists with rope and tied a black fabric around her eyes.

After only a short break they rode on, again pushing their sturdy ponies to a gallop. That time her captor insisted she sit astride on the saddle in front of him as they rode, her hands tethered to the saddle. Had she contemplated escape by flinging herself off the pony to her death, his move put paid to the notion.

As she sensed them drawing closer to Castle Duart, she retreated into numbness. All memory of the joy and rapture of the past day and night was frozen into a distant recess of her mind, unreachable. It would remain there, strengthening her in the ordeal and horror she knew would come once they arrived at MacDougall’s domain.

* * *

Although she was unable to see and her captors’ words were lost to her, she understood they had arrived at Duart Castle.

The horses clattered loudly across cobbles, and the men’s talk, which had been subdued, burst forth in an excited chatter. Finally, the steed she was riding drew to a halt and the man holding her captive hoisted her unceremoniously to the ground. She staggered, uncertain of her footing and a rough hand grabbed her elbow, keeping her upright and urging her forward.

A door creaked open, footsteps receded and, despite her blindfold, the darkness grew even more impenetrable around her.

Underneath her feet was slippery dampness, and the air she breathed was dank and foul smelling. She guessed they had entered a hidden tunnel which would lead them to the heart of the castle.

She stumbled, the man wrenched her arm and pulled away the blindfold. Unaccustomed to being able to see, she slowly made out a dimly lit passageway, the walls dripping, and the underfoot was slimy, swirling with water.

They had not progressed far when they reached another doorway, this one leading to a set of stone stairs, lit dimly with torches held in sconces at intervals along the wall. Pressing a hand to the stone wall, she managed to keep her balance and ascend the stairs.

After what seemed an achingly long time, they arrived at yet another door. It opened to a passage, much wider than the tunnel and in contrast the air was pleasant smelling as if somewhere scented oil was burning. The men propelled her along the corridor, each of them grinning.

She surmised they were bringing her to their master, the Laird Alexander MacDougall, and were anticipating his pleasure at their success in kidnapping her and dragging her before him.

Trying hard to stop her body from shaking, she shook her head.

He is but a man . Evil, tae be sure. Yet he will die as all men dae, and when me husband, the Laird Tòrr, will put an end tae this beastly laird once and fer all.

There was some consolation in the way her thoughts turned that helped build her courage. She would not quail before the MacDougall, no matter what.

They finally arrived at a much larger and more ornate oaken door, studded with metal spikes and with a giant handle.

They knocked and waited. An interminable amount of time passed before she heard the deep voice responding.

“Who goes?”

The man gripping her arm called her name in ringing tones.

“The Lady Lyra MacInnes.”

“The Lady Lyra MacKinnon”, she ground out fiercely, only to be completely ignored as the man opened the door and with a grunt of satisfaction, pushed her into the room.

She did her best to stand tall, shoulders squared and her chin high as he stood her before the dark figure seated behind a large desk.

As the man rose to his feet, she could not contain a gasp at ger first glance at the man she knew was MacDougall.

He was taller and older than she’d imagined him to be. He held himself straight, yet she could see the age cruelly etched on his fine, thin features, on his slightly stooped shoulders, and in the silver locks falling in thin whisps to his shoulders.

No doubt, in his prime he’d been a handsome man.

He said nothing, his gloved hand reaching out to force her head this way and that, for all the world as if he was inspecting a prize breeding cow brought for his inspection before purchase.

He took a handful of her hair which was now bedraggled and tangled again after her ride and brushed it over her shoulder, forcing her chin up so he could better observe her features.

“I heard ye were a beauty, but ye’re nay more than a homely village lass wi’ her blackened face and hands, yer hair lank and tangled in yer shabby gown.” He shook his head, looking at her with disdain. “Nevertheless,” he went on, returning to his seat at the desk. “I will wed ye and take yer lands as me own.” He gave a sharp laugh. “And I will bend ye tae me will.”

She took a deep breath, holding herself as straight as she could, looking at him with all the haughty displeasure she could manage.

“Ye’ll nae wed wi’ me, ye callow swine.”

He looked up and raised his hand. For a moment she thought he would strike her, but he lowered his hand and studied her, his mouth drawn in a snarl, showing his teeth.

“Little I care fer yer wedding tae that pup MacKinnon. I heard it was hasty, the banns were nay called correctly. It will be a small matter tae have it annulled.”

She raised her head, piercing him with fiery arrows from her green-eyed glare. “We were married according tae Gods’ law and the kings’s Scottish law.” She hurled the words at him. “Me consent was freely given and our marriage was duly consummated. There can be nay annulment.” She spat at his feet.

He swung back his arm and slapped her across the face, his signet ring dealing a painful blow to her cheekbone.

She did not flinch although the pain was great.

He seized her arm in a painful squeeze above the elbow, causing her eyes to water. “I shall enjoy your feistiness and yer resistance all the greater when I take me pleasure in yer body.”